"Jack? Are you there?" I peered into the seemingly empty apartment. The car wasn't out front, and the keys were gone from their designated hook. "Huh. Wonder where he went?"
I continued walking through my house, looking to see if he had left me a note to tell me where he had gone. There was no note on the fridge, where he normally left them. That was strange. I thought to look in our bedroom. Maybe he had left it there when he grabbed his jacket. I padded silently through the house to the room that we shared. Again, no note on the bed or the dresser. This was getting really weird. He never left without telling me or leaving me a note. Maybe he had been in a hurry and didn't have time to leave me a note. I had forgotten to turn my phone off of silent after my meeting this afternoon. Perhaps he had called me and left me a message. I dug my phone out of my pocket and looked at it hopefully. Nothing. No new messages or missed phone calls. I was beginning to worry. Why would my husband leave and not tell me where he was going. Even if he was in a hurry, he always managed to leave me some kind of message so that I wouldn't worry. I was a notorious worry-wart, especially when it came to people I cared about. I always assumed the worst.
Deciding that he might have been in such a hurry that he just simply forgot to call me, I grabbed my phone again and called him. The only answer I got was voicemail. No ringing, just straight to voicemail. That meant one of two things: he had turned his phone off or his phone was dead. Trying to be optimistic, I went for the first option. Something was not sitting well with me. Blame it on my instincts from being a cop for the last ten years, but I had a gut feeling that something was wrong. I was starting to panic, so I called his office.
"This is Lewis & Clark Enterprise. How may I help you?" The secretary's familiar voice filled the phone, granting me some comfort in my panicky state.
"Hi, Glenda. This is Kate. Is Jack around?" I was praying that my voice wasn't giving away the dread that was building up in the pit of my stomach. Her fingers clicked on her keyboard, and then I heard her give a small noise of surprise.
"According to the log at the door, Jack hasn't been in at all today. Sorry dear." My mind started spinning. If he wasn't at home, and he wasn't at the office, I didn't know where to look for him.
"Oh. Well, thanks anyway. I'll see you soon," I replied meekly. It was officially time to worry. Jack never missed work. My husband was not answering his phone, had not told me where he was going, and did not show up for work. This was something that Jack would never do. I was desperately trying to keep myself from panicking.
I dialed Jack's number once again and it went straight to voicemail once again. This time I left a message. "Jack, it's me. Please call me back. Please? You're starting to make me worry. I love you Jack." I prayed that his phone had just run out of battery and he hadn't had time to charge it yet. Staying optimistic was something that was not a choice right now, because if I didn't, I was going to over-think things and blow everything way out of proportion.
It was Friday, it had been a long week, and I told myself that I needed to relax a little. A glance at the clock told me that it was only 5, so I decided to put in a movie. If Jack had not called by 7, I was going to take matters into my own hands. Until then, I needed to stay as calm as possible and wind down a little. The movie distracted me slightly, but those two hours seemed to drag on. Every 10 minutes I found myself looking at the clock. This was going to be a long night.
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Finally it was 7 and I had yet to hear from my husband. I couldn't take it any longer. I grabbed the keys to my car and drove back to the precinct. On my way there, my mind starting to spin stories with different theories to explain this situation. He forgot to tell me that he had a business meeting tonight and had left his phone at the office to prevent distractions while he was with his client. His phone had fallen out of his pocket and he hadn't realized it and had no time to use a pay phone to call me. The problem with all of my theories was that none of them explained why he didn't show up to work. That was probably the detail that bothered me the most. Jack was not the kind of person to skip out on work without telling anyone, and especially not without a very good reason. By the time I reached the precinct, my stomach was uneasy and I had worried myself even more by over-analyzing every detail. Sometimes being a detective was not a good thing.
The security guard on duty in the lobby greeted me with a surprised but friendly smile. It had been a long time since I had worked this late, and an even longer time since I returned to work after I had gone home. Once I left this building, I did not like to return in the same day. I ignored the question in his eyes and continued on my way to the elevator. I pushed the button for floor number 8, like I did every morning, and tried to calm the churning in my stomach.
The doors opened and I was pleasantly surprised to find no one else on the floor. It was definitely Friday and no one wanted to stick around any longer than they needed to. Firing up my computer, I sat down in the chair that had been worn smooth over the course of several years. The screen finally blinked to life with a ding, and I pulled up our search program. In the search box that we used to track down missing cars during our cases, I put in Jack's license plate number, along with his car make and model. Just as I was about to click the search button, my conscience decided to put in its opinion.
Jack is a grown man. He can take care of himself, and he doesn't need you to track his every move. If he was in trouble, you would've gotten a phone call or something by now. It's been hours since anyone that you know of has seen him, and you know perfectly well that if he were in trouble, you would've received a ransom demand or something by now. You've seen those cases so many times. This isn't like those cases. So his phone goes straight to voicemail. How many times has your phone done the same thing because you forgot to charge it up overnight? Jack is a big boy and doesn't need you to criticize his every move. He deserves his privacy. If he wanted you to know, he would've told you. Cut the man a little slack. And besides, it hasn't even been a day. Go home and get some sleep. If you haven't heard anything by tomorrow you can start to worry. Don't over-react yet.
I told myself that my conscience was right. It hadn't even been 24 hours, and there was no real reason for me to suspect anything suspicious yet. My gut was still telling me something was wrong, and wanted to make sure that I heard both sides of this argument.
When have you known Jack to not tell you where he was going? He always makes a point to tell you so that way you never have any reason to worry. And, when has Jack ever missed work without telling you? The last time he didn't show up to work, he was at home on the couch puking his guts up. Something is wrong here. He hasn't made any attempt to contact you and he didn't go to work. What if something happened to him because no one was looking for him? You would feel guilty and blame yourself for the rest of your life. It would be better to feel guilty about tracking down your husband to make sure that he is safe than to feel like it's your fault that he's not coming home. You’re his wife, and you're a cop. Trust your instincts; they're telling you to dig. Your instincts aren't ever wrong. Go with your gut and keep Jack safe. It'll be worth it if you do.
I had a difficult decision. Do I listen to the rational part of me and let him come home on his own, or do I listen to the part of me that solved cases and kept people safe? I wanted Jack to come home safely, and if that meant going against my better judgment and violating his privacy to keep him safe, then so be it. I had taken an oath to do my best to protect people and save lives. Jack was no exception. I had certain standards, and doing everything that I possibly can to prevent anything dangerous from happening. This was my husband, and I would give my life for him. I needed to make sure that he was safe and sound before I rested. I clicked the button.
The search program quickly pulled up any picture taken of the car by the city's traffic cameras, any traffic violations that the car had ever been a part of, and basically put together a timeline of Jack's movements today. It started off with Jack's car being photographed at a stoplight because he ran a red light. Three hours later, there was another picture of him doing the exact same thing, but he was in New Jersey. An hour after that, yet another picture of the car had been snapped of him making an illegal U-turn. Just below the pictures, there was a citation for him at noon today for reckless driving. I read the details: he had been doing 80 mph in a zone that was clearly marked as 40 mph. None of this added up. Jack was the safest driver that I had ever known. He was really serious about following all of the traffic laws, especially in high-traffic areas. There had to be something going on for him to run three red lights, do twice the speed limit, and do a U-turn when it was clearly marked as illegal. The evidence was confusing me, and instead of giving me answers, it gave me more questions. Why was he driving so crazily, and what in the world was he doing in New Jersey? Neither one of us had any family or friends there, and he had never spoke of visiting any clients there. In fact, his company was very insistent on keeping as much of their business local as possible. Everything was telling me that something was gravely wrong.
Glancing further down the page, I noticed that there was one last entry from about a half hour ago. I clicked on it, and the report claimed that the car had been left in a no parking zone for two hours, so it had been towed. Skimming through the rest of the report, it gave the location of the impound lot that Jack's car had been towed to. I jotted down the location of the lot and the location that it had been towed from. If he had left his car parked there for two hours, he must have had something important to do there. Before I could try to rationalize and talk myself out of going, I grabbed my badge and gun and headed for the door.
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A few hours and three cups of coffee later, I had hit my destination. Newark, New Jersey. It was well into the morning, and I realized that no one in their right mind would be up at this time. Despite the caffeine, my eyes were getting droopy and I could feel myself losing steam. Stopping at a little motel would probably be my best bet. It took me about twenty minutes, but I finally found an out-of-the-way motel with its vacancy light on. Exhausted, I pulled in and paid for my room. The room was pretty sketchy-looking, but I had my gun. With a few hours of sleep I would be ready to go find out where my husband was. My shoes were kicked off and I didn't even bother getting under the covers. I lay down on the disgustingly dusty bed and was out like a light in a matter of minutes.
I woke up and looked at the clock. It was 8:45. The people that I needed to speak with would most likely be awake by now. I grabbed my stuff and drove to the first gas station that I could find. I was going on less than 4 hours of sleep; I desperately needed caffeine to make it through the day. I bought three cups of coffee, earning a strange look from the cashier, and went on my way. Relying on my GPS to get me to this impound lot, I drove and let my thoughts wander. The whole thing with Jack being in New Jersey still didn't make any sense at all to me. Letting his car be towed was so irresponsible of him. I knew it was foolish, but I was furious. What could possibly be so important that you left your car parked, illegally, for two hours? That just blew my mind and made me so angry.
I was so lost in my frustration that I didn't hear the GPS tell me that I had arrived at my destination. Expectantly, I glared at the screen until I saw the message flashing across it: YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION. Oh. I pulled off into a parking space and made sure that my badge was handy. Yes, my name was on the title, but there was no way that I was paying to get that car out of that lot. Besides, I couldn't drive two cars at once. I needed some way to make sure that nothing happened to the car and that no more fines were racked up, until I found Jack. My badge also provided me with a sense of security and power. I wasn't just going to be an irritated wife retrieving her husband's car. No, I was going to be a cop getting the answers that I wanted, and my badge definitely ensured that.
Making my way to the little building on the premises, I told myself to stick to business. I wanted and needed answers, and I was determined to get them. No spinning theories while I was asking questions. Only cold, hard, irrefutable facts. The scrawny man behind the desk looked up when he heard my heels.
"May I help you, ma'am?" At least this guy was polite. I was in no mood to deal with someone who was rude.
"Yes. My name is Detective Kate Clark. I'm here about a car that was towed here yesterday, license plate number GW587F3." Professional, Kate. Keep it professional.
"I'm sorry ma'am. That car was retrieved first thing this morning by a Tom Farrell," came the answer from the man. I froze at his response. Who was Tom Farrell? The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I knew that I hadn't heard it in a long time. I tried to pull my thoughts together and get as much information on this guy as possible.
"Did you collect anything from the car?" Maybe if they had taken anything it could give me some clues as to where Jack could possibly be. I knew it was a long shot, but I was willing to take anything I could get.
"Actually, yes. Mr. Farrell asked me to dispose of these things for him. I haven't gotten the chance to do it yet." Finally, a solid lead! It was weird, but I wasn't going to turn down potential information.
"I'm going to need everything that he gave you, along with a copy of any information he gave you," I commanded, making sure that my badge was visible.
"Yes, ma'am." He gathered everything up and handed it to me. "Is there anything else that I can help you with?"
"Do you happen to have any security cameras or anything that might have gotten a picture of him?" I needed to know who picked up the car. I didn't know Tom, but maybe seeing his face would help me remember how I knew his name.
"We are legally bound to make a copy of their driver's licenses. Would you like a copy of that?" This guy deserved a raise. I wished that everyone that I came into contact with on cases were as helpful as him.
"Yes, please. Thank you so much for your help today." He quickly made a copy of it for me, and handed it to me. I thanked him and took everything out to my car, not bothering to look at any of the information while I was inside the building.
I decided that now would be a good time for breakfast, so I drove around until I found a little donut shop on a side street. No one would bother me here, and a donut sounded pretty darn good to me right now. My stomach was growling, and then it dawned on me that I hadn't eaten since lunchtime yesterday. I ordered a coffee and a couple of donuts and sat down in a corner booth. All of the information from the impound lot was fanned out in front of me on the table, and I picked the driver's license to start with. I gave the picture a quick glance, and then did a double take. Tom Farrell was Jack! Then I understood why the name was so familiar. Tom Farrell was the name of Kevin Costner's character in No Way Out, one of Jack's favorite movies. This license was clearly fake, because Jack's name was not Tom Farrell, but this was a very good fake. I've been a cop for 10 years, but this would've definitely fooled me. Why did Jack have a fake ID? Maybe the address on the license would give me some info. That would be my next stop, after visiting the spot that Jack's car had been towed from. Looking through the things that Jack had given to the guy at the impound lot, I wasn't getting any answers. I had plenty of questions, but none of them were being answered.
There was a sticky note with an address on it, but it wasn't written in Jack's handwriting. Whoever wrote it was clearly a woman by the legible, loopy cursive. I was beginning to make a list of places to check out, and I didn’t recognize any of them. The rest of the papers I had consisted of several fast-food receipts, all paid for in cash; a couple of newspapers, both New York and New Jersey; and a manila folder with several different pieces of paper that didn't seem to have any connection to each other. The only things that they had in common were pink and yellow highlighter marks all over them. The words that were highlighted didn't make any sense: just, ever, not, new, if, forget, easy, real, jobs, also, colors, keen, salsa, only, never. Those were emphasized in yellow. The pink marks made about as much sense: 5, 6, 2, volume, Europe, red, north, on, and news. It made no sense. These words had nothing to do with each other, and it was like that on every page. No code that I had ever seen used any of these words, and the numbers completely threw me off. What kind of cipher would use numbers and letters? Writing them down in a list could help, I thought, so I grabbed a napkin and put all of the yellow words in one list and did the same for the pink. They still didn't seem to be connected, but then something caught my eye. All of the yellow letters spelled out Jennifer Jackson, and the pink ones said 562 Vernon. It was a name and an address. Flipping through the rest of the papers, it was the same thing on every page. There was a name spelled out in yellow and an address in pink. I quickly jotted down each of them, taking up a whole napkin, and realized that I couldn't track down everything on my own. There was only one person that I trusted enough to help me, and he was still in New York. He could just run these names for me. This was just too much to do on my own.
I pulled out my phone and dialed speed dial number 3. 1 was voicemail, 2 was Jack, and 3 was Isaac. Isaac had been my partner for 7 of my 10 years as a cop. Impatiently, I listened to the ringing on the other end of the line. It was 10:30, and he was definitely at the office. Come on, pick up.
"Kate? Where the heck are you?" It wasn't the most polite greeting, but I could tell that he was worried. I'd forgotten to call in and say I wouldn't be there today. Awesome.
"Long story. Jack didn't come home last night and right now I'm in Jersey. It's really a long story and I don't feel like explaining. Will you do me a favor though?" I made it clear that I didn't really want to answer questions, mostly because he would have the same questions that I did, and I still didn't have any answers.
"Yeah. Are you okay?" He sounded really concerned, and I knew that I must’ve sounded really tired and really ticked.
"I'm fine, it was just a really long night. I don't have any answers yet, and I have way too much information to handle by myself. If I give you some names and addresses, will you run them for me?"
"Sure. What do you got? And by the way, Boyer's wondering where you are. Do you want me to tell her that you're home sick?" That was Isaac, always covering for me. Our captain was a stickler, and I was thankful that he would deal with her today so I wouldn't have to.
"Yeah, thanks. You're gonna need a pen and paper for this list. You ready?" A grunt of approval came from my partner. "Okay. Jennifer Jackson, 562 Vernon. Sean Mahoney, 1321 Pinoak. Peter Meyer, 146 West Green." The list went on for about 20 names and addresses. At least it was thorough. "That's the last one. Did you get them all?"
"Yep. I'll run these and call you when I get them done. Be safe, okay? Don't do anything stupid Kate. I don't really want to have to drag you out of trouble all the way in New Jersey." Isaac chuckled and I agreed. A quick thank you and then I hung up.
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There was nothing special about the spot that the car had been towed from. It was just an apartment building in an industrial part of the city. I almost just dismissed stopping until I looked at the address. Vernon Street. The building next to it was 560 Vernon, so the apartment building must've been where Jennifer Jackson lived.
The inside of the building was not the prettiest, or cleanest for that matter, but the apartments looked like they were pretty big. I looked around until I found someone who was coming out of one of the apartments.
"Hello, I'm Detective Kate Clark. Could you tell me which apartment Jennifer Jackson lives in?"
"She lived in number 5," the tenant replied.
"Did she move out?" I didn't miss that she said lived, past tense.
"No, she was found dead a few days ago. I think that her things are still there." This was not good. Why did Jack have the address of a dead woman?
"Thank you. One more thing. Could you tell me if you've seen this man around the building lately?" I showed her the copy of the driver's license with Jack's picture on it.
"Yes, I have. He was going into Jen's apartment this morning when I went out to get my mail this morning. 9:00, maybe?" I looked at my watch. It was 11. He could still be here.
"Thank you for your help ma'am." I went off in search of apartment number 5, drawing my gun as I went. I didn't want to draw my gun on my husband, but the evidence was looking pretty suspicious.
"Detective Kate Clark. Is anyone there?" I announced outside the door. No answer. I knocked on the door and it swung open. The apartment was trashed. All of the drawers from dressers and desks were all over the floor, their contents rummaged through. The mattress was pushed off the bed, and it was clear that someone had been looking for something under her bed. Books were everywhere, each with their pages open, left there by someone looking for something within their contents. Pictures had been torn off the walls, as if someone had been searching for a hidden safe. The shredder had been emptied onto a coffee table and fragments of documents had been thrown everywhere. Whoever had been looking for something had torn this place apart. My gun was still in my hands, and I was about to return it to its holster when a loud crash came from the bathroom, followed by a string of curses.
"This is Detective Clark, NYPD. Come out with your hands where I can see them. Now!" I held my gun protectively in front of me, mentally preparing myself to see Jack's face. I saw a shadow moving through the dark bathroom, following my directions, and concluded that it couldn't be Jack. It was too small of a person. In fact, it looked too small to be any man. Their face came into light, and her features were filled with regret. Clearly, she was pretty ticked that she had been caught.
"Who are you and why are you here?" I demanded answers.
"My name is Susan Atwell. Don't shoot," she replied. "I was looking for my friend."
"Why were you hiding in the bathroom?" I lowered my gun as I spoke, but kept it securely in my hands. "And who is your friend?"
"His name is Tom Farrell. I'm not supposed to be here anyway, so I thought it would be best to hide," she told me. Tom Farrell. There he was again. She almost hadn't said Tom. It looked like she was about to say Jack. I was starting to get somewhere.
"Is this your friend?" I pulled out the picture of the driver's license. She nodded. "Why did you think he would be here?"
"He called me this morning and gave me this address. And before you ask, the apartment was already like this when I got here, but Tom wasn't here." She seemed like she had been questioned before, and I guessed that this wasn't the first run-in she had with the police.
"Do you recognize the name Jack Clark?" I knew that I was pushing some boundaries, but I was tired of not getting all of the information that I needed. Worry flashed in her eyes, and then recognition, and then back to nothing.
"Detective Clark," Patricia said, with enunciation on my last name. "I know lots of people. The name might sound familiar, but that doesn't mean that I know him. Besides, it would've been years since I talked to him if I even knew him." She pulled out a card and flipped it over. She wrote something down on the back of the little piece of paper and then handed it to me. "I'm sorry for trespassing, Detective. It won't happen again, and if you don't have any more questions, I have to go." With that, she left the apartment.
The business card she had given me was still in my hand, so I turned it over and read what she had wrote. The first thing that struck me before I even started reading was that this was the same loopy cursive that had been on that sticky note in Jack's car. There was one mystery solved. Then I read her short message.
Yes, I know Jack. He's in trouble, but I don't know where he went. He's using his old alias, so something is very wrong. Don't come back to this place. It's bugged and being watched. My real name is Patricia Leonard. Call this number if you want help finding Jack. 555-2767.
She had told me that her name was Susan Atwell. That was the female lead in No Way Out. There's no way that was a coincidence with everything else. I pocketed the card and left the apartment building, not looking back.
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It was well past lunchtime once I stopped at a little diner for food. I had gone back to the motel that I had crashed at last night and paid for another night. I knew that there was no way that this was going to wrap up by nightfall, and I wasn't leaving Newark until I knew what Jack was doing there. After a quick nap there, my stomach rumbled, telling me that I couldn't wait any longer for food. I took everything that I had so far plus a notebook with me into the diner, and worked through my cheeseburger.
With all the addresses that I had discovered, I needed to make a list of them and try to plan out some sort of itinerary. Once that was done, I pulled out the note that Patricia had given me and analyzed it a little more than I did the first time. She said that Jack was using his old alias. What was that supposed to mean? When had he used an alias before, and why had he needed one? He'd been a businessman ever since he got out of college. Why would a dead woman's apartment be bugged? And whose phone number had she given me? This was all so confusing, and the deeper I dug into this, the more my gut told me that something was hinky. My phone rang, and I raced to pull it out of my pocket. I didn't bother looking at the caller ID, and answered immediately.
"Jack? Where are you?" My voice was frantic, and I knew that to anyone else, I must sound crazy and desperate.
"No, it's Isaac. Sorry. Are you sure that you're okay, Kate?" My heart dropped.
"Yeah, I'm fine. I just thought that you might be Jack. Sorry. What did you find out?" I tried to make my voice sound a little more excited, a little happier.
"I ran every one of those names and addresses. All of them have been found dead in their homes over the last 5 years, the last one being Jennifer Jackson. Every autopsy report says that they died of a GSW during a home invasion." Well that would explain the state of her apartment. "All of their homes have been trashed in the invasion, but there were no prints or DNA or trace of any kind. It looks like they were professional jobs. All of the victims lived alone and none of their neighbors heard anything. It almost seems like the invasions were just there to cover up a hit or the houses were torn apart after the owner was killed. No valuables seem to be missing, but all of their documents were gone and tech thinks that someone made a copy of their hard drives and took it with them. It's some pretty weird stuff, Kate."
"Wow, that is really strange. Hey can you do me one more favor?" I had no idea why any of those people had been killed, but they all clearly had to have some kind of connection.
"Sure, what do you need?" I really couldn't ask for a better partner. He was always there if I needed help.
"Actually, I lied. Two more favors. One, could you look for any link between the victims? They weren't targeted like that just randomly. And could you tell me whose phone number 555-2767 is?" I wasn't calling that number without knowing who it was.
"Just one second." I heard some typing on the other end. "Huh. Looks like it belongs to an office in the CIA building in Newark. Weird. Are you sure that's the right number?" The CIA? What had Jack gotten into? The CIA was never good news, in my experience.
"Yeah, I'm sure. Thanks Isaac. I'll call you when I leave Jersey. Thanks."
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"Hello, my name is Detective Kate Clark, NYPD. I was told to call this number to receive help in tracking down my husband Jack Clark." My voice was quivering and I was desperately trying to keep it under control. It's not every day that you call the CIA to have help finding your husband.
"Did you say that your husband's name was Jack Clark?" The voice on the other end of the phone was laced with disbelief.
"Yes, ma'am. I was told to call you." There was some feverish whispering on the other end before the woman's voice came back on.
"Mrs. Clark, who gave you this number?" The poor lady sounded more confused than I was.
"A woman named Patricia Leonard. She also goes by Susan Atwell. Is something wrong?" I heard a squeak of surprise from the lady, and then a shuffling sound as the phone changed hands.
"Mrs. Clark, I'm sorry. When did you last see your husband?" It was a man's deep voice now.
"I saw him yesterday morning before work. He didn't come home last night, and his car was towed from an apartment building here in Newark last night."
"And the woman who gave you this number? When did you meet with her?" I was beginning to get a little irritated. I did not enjoy getting interrogated like I was a suspect.
"I met Patricia Leonard for the first time today at about 11:30 this morning at 562 Vernon Street. I've never met the woman before in my life, and she was in Jennifer Jackson's apartment. She said that Jack had called her and told her to meet him there. She gave me a note that said that the building had been bugged and was under surveillance and not to return, and then she said that if I wanted help finding Jack that I should call your number." I was losing my patience and just wanted some answers.
"Ma'am, I am very sorry that your husband is missing, but I need for you to go home and stop digging. We will find your husband, but we need for you to stay away from the case." That was the last straw. I had not come all this way and done all this digging for nothing.
"No thank you sir. I will not go home. My husband is missing, and I am not only his wife. I am a police officer, and I will not go home without him. I know that you are the CIA, but I will not sit around doing nothing while you search for my husband. That is my duty." I was done being polite.
"It is in your best interest and Jack's if you go home. We will do our best to find your husband Mrs. Clark. Go home." I hung up. They weren't going to help me, so I was done listening to their crap.
I was at a loss as to what to do next. All that I really wanted was to hear his voice again. I was up for anything right now, so I tried Jack's cell phone again. It went straight to voicemail again, but I left a message, hoping that maybe he would turn his phone on to listen to his messages.
"Jack, it's Kate. Please come home. I miss you and I'm worried and I don’t know what's going on, but you can always come home. I met Patricia and I got your stuff from the impound lot and I found out about all the home invasions. I went to Jennifer's apartment and I even called the CIA. I'll do anything for you Jack. I just want to see you come home. Please. I love you so much Jack. Just come back home to me." By the end of the message, I was crying with the remnants of yesterday's mascara running down my face. I wanted to see him so bad.
Should I go ahead and keep searching, against the advice of the CIA? Should I just go home and let the professionals do their jobs? This was such a hard decision. Again, my head and my heart had two completely different stances on the subject.
Kate, go home. Patricia told you to call the CIA and you did. She knew what she was talking about, and so do they. This is their job. If they say it's best for you to go home, go home. Jack wouldn't want you to get hurt looking for him. Go home and wait for him. He'll be alright even if you aren't out there looking for him. The government is looking and that will be good enough. Follow orders and go home, because this is way over your head. That was the rational part of me talking. It had a very good point.
Wait a second, Kate. When have you ever given up a case right in the middle of the investigation? When has someone telling you to go home stopped you before? You have come this far and gotten so many good leads. Don't give up now. He is your husband and you know that you would search to the end of the earth for him. Listen to your heart. It's never steered you wrong before. You've come too far to go home now. You love him. Show that by continuing to search for him. He would do the same for you. There's no doubt in your mind about that. That was my heart speaking. It was right. Nothing had ever stopped me from finishing my investigation before. I wasn't going home tonight.
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It had been a long week. I'd stayed in that gross motel for a week straight. Every night, I only got maybe three hours of sleep. My dreams were haunted by random theories of things that could be happening to Jack. I spent my days chasing down leads on my own and never asked for any more help from anyone at the CIA. I wouldn't have minded talking to Patricia again, but I couldn't find any trace of her anywhere. I had no contact information, so I was digging on my own. I called Isaac every day, making sure that he wasn't worried about me. He ran down some information that I needed, but other than that, I was flying solo.
It had been a long week, and I was about ready to give up. All of the leads that I thought would pan out turned up to be dead ends. We found no connection between all the home invasion victims. I couldn't find any family for any of them, no one who might've seen something. Absolutely nothing. I just couldn't understand how over 20 people had died, and no one that knew any of them were around. As far-fetched as it was, I still left two or three messages on Jack's phone every day, each one getting more desperate than the last.
I had endured enough torture by trying to solve a case that just could not be solved. I decided that after a week, I was going to give up and go home. It wasn't worth me running myself to the point of exhaustion every day when I wasn't getting anywhere. I had called Isaac to let him know that I was coming home.
"Isaac, I can't take it anymore. I have to come home. All of the leads that I'm following, they just keep coming up empty. This is going nowhere. I don't know why I thought that I could singlehandedly find him. I'm giving up," I confessed. It broke my heart to have to do that, but I wasn't doing myself any good.
"Kate, they're going to find him. Look at all the technology and knowledge that the CIA has that we don't. They have a much better chance of finding him, okay? So just because you're not going to keep searching doesn’t mean that he won't get found. They said they will find him and they will." Isaac was trying to keep me calm and optimistic. He was pretty good at that.
"You're right. Just because I'm done looking doesn’t mean everyone is. Thanks, Isaac. I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow at Sally's?" I needed a lunch with my friends to distract me once I got home. Plus, it had been about a week since I'd actually eaten a real meal.
"Sounds good. See you tomorrow Kate. Be careful driving home." The phone line clicked, signaling the end of the conversation. I lay down on the musty bed, hoping to get some sort of sleep before I started driving home. I was almost asleep when I heard a knock on my door. Who would be at my doorstep? I was staying in a motel in Newark, New Jersey. I didn't know anyone here and no one knew that I was here. I grabbed my gun off the bedside table and answered the door.
"Oh my gosh," I whispered. Standing there, outside my door, was Jack. He hadn't shaved in several days, probably since he left New York. There was the scraggly start of a beard covering his face. His eyes were dark with worry and exhaustion. He looked like he had even less sleep than I had. He looked horrible. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He was making me a little nervous; I'd never seen him act like this before.
"Kate, look at me. I've ticked off some extremely powerful people. They think that I'm dead, and so does everyone else. They will come for you and ask you if you have seen me. If they think that you're lying, they will torture you until you give up the information that they want. They will hunt me down until they make sure that I am dead beyond a shadow of a doubt. If they do that, they won't ever let you go. So you have to decide. Can you lie well enough that trained professionals will believe them, or do you want to go into hiding with me?" I stumbled over to the bed, my knees not wanting to hold up the weight of what he had just told me. I was so dumbfounded by all of this information at once.
"Lie or go into hiding with you? That's all she wrote?" I wanted to make sure that I completely understood my options before I made the decision that would change my life.
"Yes. If you don't go with me, then this is the last time that you will ever see me. I can't stick around. It's too dangerous for both of us. And if you do go with me, we can't tell anyone and we can't see them again. We have to disappear, Kate. We will have to fake your death and then leave for a safe house." There was so much for me to take in. So much for me to consider in such a short amount of time. Jack didn't directly say it, but I knew that I didn't have much time left to make the choice.
I didn't think that I could just leave all of my family and my friends. They were always there. How could I do that to my mother, to my sister? How could I do that to Isaac? The rest of the people that I worked with, all of my friends. How could I just lie to them and let them think that I was dead? That was incredibly selfish of me. But, if these people didn't completely believe my lie, which they probably wouldn’t, I would just die anyway. Do I make it look like an accident and have them accept that, or do I let them find me brutally murdered?
And how could I live without Jack? This past week had been awful, not knowing where he was or if he was okay. There was no way that I could have to deal with that for the rest of my life. As selfish as it was for me to want to spend the rest of my life with him, I knew that was going to be how I decided. Everyone dies sometime, right? Some of us just die sooner than others. People can accept that and move on with their lives. I would just make sure that it looked like a total accident. That way no one would feel like they had to seek out justice for me.
Silently, I told everyone that I loved goodbye. I apologized for what I was about to do. I prayed for safety for us and for them. I prayed that they would move on with their lives.
"When do we leave?"